Parts of a Whole
by usakiwigirl
Summary: John is confused. His friendship with Rodney is probably the most important thing in his life – so why is he all of a sudden pushing him away?
1. John

Curled up on his side, arms wrapped tight around his body to conserve heat, John pondered his current situation. The tent felt empty with only him to warm the air. He missed the sound of Rodney's soft snores, the heat that radiated from his sleeping bag even from the other side of the tent – things that once irritated John, but now felt as normal as breathing. It just felt wrong to be alone. It wasn't as if he was in any physical danger on this off-world trip – far from it. For once, the only threat to his body at this particular moment was the cold night air. And truth be told, there were easy ways to mitigate that, so he wasn't even giving that any serious thought. Not this night, anyway.

No, what concerned him was his heart. His traitorous, pining, rapidly beating heart. The organ most responsible for his on-going life, and yet the one directly responsible for his impending doom. He couldn't understand why it chose now to founder on the rocks of romance. He'd thought, in his long distant past, that he'd already navigated these dangerous waters, and barely escaped with his sanity, let alone his life – and bank account – intact.

His friendship with one Dr Rodney McKay meant everything to him. He'd not thought to ever find a friend such as Rodney again, not after Afghanistan. He'd deliberately kept himself distant from people since his time in the battle zone, knowing his career was in the crapper. If anybody got too close, they'd be committing career suicide, and John refused to be responsible for that. But this thing with Rodney sort of crept up on him, taking him completely by surprise.

At first, it was expedient to have Rodney on his team. The man was, after all, the foremost expert on Ancient technology on the Pegasus expedition. And it certainly didn't hurt to have somebody intelligent enough to get them out of some of the weird-ass situations Pegasus seemed to enjoy throwing their way, even if he did piss and moan while doing it. In fact, it was the pissing and the moaning that kept drawing John to Rodney, although not even torture would induce him to admit that. He'd enjoyed – still enjoyed, even to this day – antagonizing Rodney, goading and pushing the man to greater heights, ostensibly to force him to work harder, but really just to watch him fluster and flutter, flail and rant. What started as expedience on his part, soon turned to friendship, surprising them both.

There was something endearing to Rodney's meltdowns; the way his arms waved erratically through the air, threatening concussion to any within reach, the way the tone of his voice would reach ever higher, until John wondered if the Pegasus equivalent of dogs would soon be conjured from the air around them, the way his eyes flashed a vivid blue, brighter and sharper than any other eyes of John's acquaintance. Most dangerously, the way his mouth – that mobile, eloquent… shit, eminently kissable mouth – dipped to one side, lips firming in displeasure, or tilted at the corner, smirk firmly in place.

To most of the rest of the expedition, Rodney McKay was difficult, obnoxious, obstructive, rude, imperious, dismissive – if there was a negative descriptive word, then most likely somebody, somewhere, had at one time used it to describe Rodney. But to John, who knew him better than anyone else, he was also insecure, lonely, loyal, fiercely protective of his friends and his city – and a truer friend than any John had ever had in the past, including those few he'd maintained in the Air Force. And therein lay his problem.

He loved Rodney. He'd loved Rodney for a long time, as one does a brother. At least, that's what he thought, what he kept telling himself. Just a friend, nothing more than a friend. John didn't do guys; he'd been married, for fuck's sake! He wasn't gay – hell, he wasn't even bi. Even if he never saw it coming, he was perfectly fine with all the alien babes making a play for him. Didn't mean he was going to act on it – he had a job to do protecting his team and expedition back on Atlantis, he couldn't afford to let his guard down by dipping his wick every time the opportunity presented itself. He'd never looked at another man in his life, not in a romantic fashion. Sure, he could appreciate that a man might be good looking, but that just made him enlightened, not gay. But Rodney… well, Rodney was different.

It took him a while to realise that he might just be falling for his best friend. Denial was, after all, an emotion just as strong as love. Jealousy was his first big clue, however. Jealousy of what, exactly, took a little longer to figure out. When he realised it was _Rodney_, or rather, any contact Rodney had with anybody not him – well, at that point, he knew he might just be seriously fucked. He didn't want Rodney proposing to Katie Brown, or spending 'quality time' with Jennifer Keller, and while outwardly supportive of his best friend in his romantic endeavours, on the inside he rejoiced every time Rodney's romances imploded. He wasn't proud of his feelings, especially once he understood why he was so happy that Rodney was suddenly single once more, but he was too happy to have his best friend to himself to really care. And maybe a small part of him – a teeny, tiny, miniscule little gay part – hoped that maybe Rodney would one day return his feelings.

That maybe one day, Rodney would love him, as he loved Rodney. Not as one man might love his brother, but as one might love a partner. A lover. Somebody who might just be willing to spend the rest of his life with John, as John was thinking he might be willing to do with Rodney.

Because John was pretty sure he couldn't live without Rodney, not anymore. And it was altogether possible he'd fucked things beyond all belief by letting everything slip to Rodney, just by holding his eyes a little too long, or sitting a little too close, or God forbid, calling out his name while sleeping together in such cramped quarters.


	2. Rodney

The tent flap shifted, and Rodney crawled through. There wasn't room for manoeuvring in the little two-person bivouacs, yet Rodney still managed to wriggle his way up past John and into his sleeping bag, without elbowing John in the back, or bringing the cover down upon their heads. It was a far cry from their first night spent together, where John returned to Atlantis with a black eye and bruised ribs, courtesy of Rodney's wayward fists as he flailed his way into his bag. Now, Rodney was smooth, quiet, almost stealthy as he settled.

Rodney shivered in his bag; the air in the tent was more than a little cold. If he noticed it, then he could only imagine how John was feeling. The man was notorious for always being cold. He looked across the tent – it wasn't exactly difficult. If he pulled his arm free, he could touch John without even extending his muscles. As he stared at John's back, feeling the air in the tent slowly warm, he could see the tendons in John's neck; they were rigid and tight. Maybe it wasn't just the cold that had John all curled up in a defensive ball, like a porcupine with its quills all sticking out. Sometimes it could be difficult to tell with John – his spikes were oftentimes hidden on the inside, waiting to prick the unsuspecting and unwary.

There was a time when John would relax completely when sharing a tent with Rodney, but it seemed those days were well and truly over. It was just as well Rodney was impervious to sharp, prickly Lieutenant Colonel's with stunted emotional development – at least, that's what he kept telling himself, whenever John let one of his barbs poke a little too far out, and jabbed Rodney somewhere sensitive. Such as his heart.

They used to joke around, or rather John would joke, and Rodney would complain, and whatever their crisis-du-jour would be, they would prevail. He missed those days, when John would jab at his every last nerve, in a futile attempt to make Rodney work harder. Except those times really weren't that futile, because invariably, Rodney _did_ work harder, and faster, and better than he ever thought he could – which was certainly saying something, because hello? Smartest man in at least two galaxies. Possibly the universe? Well, probably the universe, really. There might be a smarter creature, but Rodney had yet to come across one. The Asgard didn't count; smart-mouthed, in-bred, clones of… of… well, themselves. Other than that, he didn't know, but whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

Having a mind that worked constantly, often in overlapping, sometimes concentric circles, and tangents that led him down divergent paths he had no intention of walking, didn't help him figure out one John Sheppard, however. Just what the hell was he going to do with the man? He couldn't go on with John acting the way he'd been acting – all cold and distant one minute, reminiscent of the Doranda debacle, to shy and tongue-tied the next, like a teenager dealing with his first crush. Which, honestly, Rodney found more than a little disconcerting, to say the least. Seriously, the Kirk-like babe magnet, tongue-tied? It made Rodney itch to check for Ancient technology that could be affecting John, or pull out a medical scanner to make sure he wasn't under the influence. Of what, he had no clue, but he needed to rule it out, regardless.

Rodney knew he was difficult to know, to work with, to talk to, and to just generally be around. On some level, he'd always known, but for some unfathomable reason, John Sheppard never let that get in the way. It was almost as if he relished Rodney's innate ability to be an asshole, encouraged it even – and from there, a true friendship was born. Rodney missed it, and wanted it back.

Only, that wasn't all he wanted. Not really. He'd seen the looks John sent his way when he thought Rodney wasn't looking. They were the same looks Rodney dreamed of receiving from John. He didn't know when they started, not for sure, but as clueless as Rodney was about personal interactions, he could still recognize a 'look' when it was aimed in his direction. He was, after all, a red-blooded man, and enjoyed sex far too much to ignore an offer when it was presented. And he'd have to be dead to ignore an offer from John Sheppard, resident embodiment of Michelangelo's David.

Okay, maybe not David. That honor should probably go to Ronan, at least in the body department. And there were others on Atlantis who could give John Sheppard a run for his money in the hotness sweepstakes, too – Lorne certainly wasn't making anybody turn away in disgust, that's for sure. In fact, Atlantis was liberally peppered with good looking, even gorgeous, specimens of human flesh, of which John Sheppard was certainly up near the top, but not necessarily the best. Of course, the question then begged to be asked; just why was Rodney even looking – at John or any other man, for that matter? Because for all he wasn't going to turn down sex when it was offered, he'd never considered sex – or more – with another man before in his life.

Admittedly, he also didn't believe in labels, such as straight, bisexual or gay, but that didn't preclude the fact that most people did, in fact, fall into one of those categories, label or no. And if he had to absolutely put a definition on his own sexual orientation, he supposed he would have to go with straight, even if it was awfully limiting and close-minded. He had never looked at another man before John, and he was more than certain that John was in the exact same situa… oh. Oh, well, that explained so much. Problem solved, really.

Only not. For he was now aware that John Sheppard was having a crisis of identity for possibly falling for his straight friend, while also being straight himself. This was a fucking mess, and would take all of his prodigious intellect to resolve, to both their satisfaction, whatever that may turn out to be. He, Rodney McKay, wasn't willing to settle for anything less.


	3. John and Rodney - Separate

John kept his body still, tense. Rodney's behaviour was unusual, to say the least. He'd climbed into his sleeping bag as normal, yes, but then, after a short time, and just as John thought it might be safe to relax, had rolled to his side and wriggled his body closer. Having Rodney so near was a dream come true – surreal, yes, but still a dream come true – but it was exactly because it was surreal that it couldn't _be_ real or true. There had to be a catch, a trick; if he responded in any way, especially positive, it would all turn to shit. Rodney would push him away in disgust, or Wraith would descend en masse. The Genii would swoop into camp and take them all prisoner, or some heretofore unknown and hidden piece of Ancient technology would suddenly activate and Rodney would be gone, ascended right in front of his eyes before he could so much as think 'off'.

Then again, he was a fucking Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Air Force, leader of the military contingent on Atlantis, survivor of Afghanistan, not to mention uncountable hostile engagements in Pegasus – Jesus, he survived a fucking Iratus bug, for god's sake, and Todd the Wraith sucking out his life (even if he did give it back), and turning into a mutant blue bug himself. God, he needed to stop thinking so fucking hard. That was his whole problem; he spent so much time thinking about how he felt for Rodney, or what it meant – both for him and them – that he was frozen, completely incapable of action. In a word, useless. Definitely not the Kirk of Pegasus that Rodney was always accusing him of being, that was for certain.

Which, good. Because it wasn't a fair comparison, anyway. He, John, was no Kirk. Never had been, and never would be. For one thing, unlike Kirk, there were no blue babes anywhere in his history of conquests. Which was a short history at that. Contrary to popular belief, John did not spend all his free time chasing tail. If he counted back, it was a depressing 16 months since he'd last been laid – while Rodney was dating Katie Brown, actually. Now that he thought back, it was a pathetic attempt to soothe his bruised ego, and to help him feel wanted. Loved, even. Didn't work, though. All he could think about was Rodney. Not that he had a conscious thought of Rodney during the act itself – that might have clued him in sooner to his current lovelorn situation. And it would have been a major mood-killer, to be thinking of Rodney, and his blue eyes, his wide shoulders and big hands… oh. Oh, god. He really hoped Rodney didn't get any closer, or breathe any harder on his skin. Because oh, god, oh, god, that felt good. Too good, really good, really, really…

Rodney stared at the back of John's neck. It was still too tense. He'd thought the man was starting to relax, but as he'd rolled closer, the muscles and tendons had tightened to a point where he was surprised John hadn't cried out in pain. If it was Rodney's neck, he knew he'd be bitching up a storm. It was taking all his self-control – which wasn't much, this close to John – not to reach out and run a finger over the soft skin of John's neck, to try and ease the tension from the rigid lines. Hell, if he moved just a fraction of a foot closer, he could even run his lips over the back of John's neck, and taste his skin.

Of course, John was notorious for flinching away from even a suspicion of physical contact. It was a surprise to Rodney that John had managed to maintain a marriage for as long as he had, considering his palpable distaste at the mere thought of even a finger touching bare skin. Hell, he damn near needed sedation when injured, he was so averse to human contact.

Yet he'd man up if the occasion truly warranted, Rodney thought – such as that space tart, Chaya. John didn't look uncomfortable at all when she was hanging off him. And he was all smiles any time the space babes looked his way, even if he didn't leap up and offer an arm immediately – he was just more likely to be there if wearing long sleeves, than if he was in a t-shirt.

Only Rodney wasn't willing to let John put a barrier of fabric between them anymore. Straight or not, it was obvious to him that there was something between them that needed to be addressed, and it was up to him to start the ball rolling, because Sheppard – he didn't deserve to be called John for this – was being a pig-headed idiot about the whole straight/bi/gay/who-the-fuck-gives-a-shit thing between them.


	4. Rodney and John - Together

"You're a moron, Sheppard, you do know that, right?" Rodney usually resorted to insults when he was stressed and confused; he was neither at that very moment. He truly thought John was being an idiot. It wasn't in his nature to hold back, and couch his thoughts in generalities, or pleasantries – he said it as he meant it. Sometimes this backfired and exploded in his face, creating more problems than those he was attempting to solve.

Like now. Rodney watched as John's neck relaxed, at least for a moment, before he tightened his entire body to roll over and face Rodney.

"What the fuck? Who pissed in your Wheaties, Rodney?"

Oops. Odds of an imminent explosion definitely not in Rodney's favor. Offensive tactical maneuver number two operational as of right now. And clearly he spent too much time with the military if that was how he was thinking.

"Oh, that's nice." Sarcasm was always a good offensive tool, Rodney found.

"You started it."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"What are you, four?"

"Five. The question still stands – what the hell did I do?"

"See? This is why I don't talk to people." Rodney knew he sounded petulant, but really, it was so annoying having to explain himself all the time. "Not only are they too stupid to bother with, they're also childish and immature. It's clearly not worth my time and considerable talent."

"McKay." Only now John sounded pissed, instead of surprised, and Rodney decided that prudence was the better part of valor here, and it might be a good idea to tell John exactly why he'd called him an idiot. Even with John lying down and cocooned in a sleeping bag, Rodney didn't fancy his chances if the man decided to attack.

"Okay, keep your hair on, Colonel Impatient. You're a moron because if you want me, all you have to do is ask me."

John stared at Rodney for a full five seconds, his mouth hanging open in astonishment, before his mouth snapped closed, his face shut down, and Rodney swore the temperature in the tent dropped at least another five degrees – Celsius, even – as his glare became downright icy.

"What the hell makes you think… Jesus, McKay, you can't… I'm not… Fuck." John was looking more and more pissed as he tried to finish a sentence. Rodney was starting to wonder if he'd made a massive tactical blunder to rival that of Custer, perhaps. Last stand on a hilltop, or tent as the case may be – not the way he was looking to go. Regardless of what John might feel toward him, it was looking as if he would rather not deal with it at all. Classic John Sheppard, really – avoidance of anything personal, at all costs.

Well, fuck that. This concerned Rodney, too. His track record with relationships wasn't any better than John's, either here in Pegasus, or back on Earth. And unlike John Sheppard, Rodney was under no illusions as to his looks. He was damn sure that if anybody was attracted to him, it wasn't for the hair on his head, or his body. His only physical draw, in his mind, was his height, and John even trumped him in that department. Life was patently unfair.

Of course, the cards were well stacked in his favor when it came to brains, and some did fall for that. Both Katie and Jennifer were intelligent women – in their own fields – and they respected Rodney for his mind, a fact that not many laid claim to. Sadly, they also spent all their free time either trying to change him, or too afraid to speak up for themselves. It took far too long for Rodney to see that that sort of behaviour was just not going to work for him. It really wasn't a good basis for a lasting relationship.

John was blessed with both brains and balls enough to stand up to Rodney, and didn't see the need to change Rodney's behaviour. He appeared to like Rodney just fine – although therein lay the problem. He liked Rodney, and refused to admit it. Well, no more. If John wasn't going to admit it, or act on his feelings, then Rodney would just have to be the aggressor.

With that thought uppermost in his mind – well, that and the very real, possible prospect of immediate bodily injury should John turn violent – Rodney lifted his upper body up off the ground and looked down at John. It would be rather like assaulting the Great Wall of China with a knife and fork, but Rodney knew it was now or never. Man up, or wuss out forever. Now that the words had been spoken, he couldn't take them back. He had to act on what he'd said at this moment, or their friendship was ruined for all time.

He didn't give John time to blink, or open his mouth, or anything. He simply leaned forward and pressed their mouths together, letting his weight settle over John in a more-than-likely vain attempt to hold him in place.

Really, having Rodney in the tent was awesome and awful, all rolled together. John was no longer cold, as the temperature just seemed to immediately climb by ten degrees whenever Rodney was close, yet he was still as tight as all hell, thanks to the fact that Rodney was just too close. His dream come true, and his worst nightmare manifested, that was Rodney McKay. Or maybe it was just John's own fucked up response to the man. Chalk it up to the fact that he wanted Rodney, and didn't know what to do about it – or even know why he wanted him in the first place, considering he'd never been one to even look at a man before. It was obviously just Rodney that was flipping John's metaphorical switches.

And it seemed _all_ his switches were turned to the 'on' position now. John was so hard, he ached. For his straight friend. John, the straight military man, had a dick like a steel rod for his straight best friend. He was so fucking fucked. And that thought just conjured up images that certainly didn't help. If John was by himself, he could maybe do something about it, but no, Rodney was directly behind him, and just a little too close for John to be pushing his hand down into his sleeping bag. It would be far too obvious. Yeah, John had learned over the years to take care of his needs quickly and quietly because of others being nearby, but he'd never been infatuated with any of them. He'd never had to worry that his self-control would fail and he'd want to roll toward his fantasy and just pounce. And John had certainly never had to take care of himself with a tent mate just a couple of inches behind his back – again, a tent mate that he found himself lusting after.

"You're a moron, you do know that, right?"

What the fuck? Where the hell did McKay get off calling him stupid? Well, that sort of talk just automatically brought the child out in John, and it was no hardship to respond accordingly. It was all he could do not to poke his tongue out at Rodney as their back and forth degenerated into a repetition of 'Did not, did too'.

Of course, John really wasn't expecting McKay to out him as he did, telling John to go ahead, and be bold and ask. Just because John was harboring a secret desire for McKay didn't mean he was going to act on it, and it was a hell of a shock to know that McKay knew of his longing. And back the fucking truck up – McKay was straight, wasn't he? So where the hell did he get off even suggesting such a thing to John? It was completely out of character.

This was why Rodney leaning up over John and pressing his lips against John's… well, setting him on fire would be an understatement. How to react, though? John was melting, yes, but frozen in place. Oh, and that needed to change quickly, because Rodney was pulling back, and he really didn't want that to happen, not now. No, now that Rodney had taken charge – and thank god he had, because John knew he'd never have done it – John wanted this to continue, despite his little rant of just a minute ago. He thought he'd been hard when Rodney was just breathing on the back of his neck, but no – just this quick, tight press of lips on lips had John feeling like he could pound nails.

Rodney was staring at him, his eyes warm, but wary. Okay, he could do this. If McKay – Rodney – could be bold enough to act, then John could return the favor, and at the very least, kiss him back. Maybe even more, if he could find his much vaunted courage – although probably not so much through two thick sleeping bags, and two pairs of BDU's. But John needed to do whatever he was going to do quickly, because Rodney was pulling away, his expressive eyes showing disappointment and maybe even a touch of fear now.

Dragging his courage up from his toes – couldn't be from his boots, they were at the end of the tent – John lifted a hand and gently touched Rodney's cheek, sliding his fingers down to his jaw and then along to his lips. He could feel it in his fingertips as Rodney sucked in air, and could hear a quiet gasp as he pressed a little firmer against the plump flesh of Rodney's lips.

Rodney wasn't a genius for nothing; he got the message immediately. His mouth opened, just far enough that John's fingers could be slipped in to the moist heat within. Rodney immediately closed his lips around them, sucking lightly and running his tongue around the tips. It was glorious, and made John's head swim with lust and desire. Reluctantly, he pulled his fingers free, trailing them around Rodney's jaw to cradle the back of his head and tug him down to meet his own mouth. It was time to kiss again, to really kiss, with teeth and tongue and full-on intent.

With a groan, Rodney crashed down on him, his hands settling on either side of John's head. Their mouths slanted back and forth, their tongues danced and duelled, and neither cared that oxygen grew shorter. Even through the two sleeping bags, they were pressed tight together, rocking frantically in a futile bid to feel some sort of physical relief. John didn't think to stop kissing Rodney long enough to wriggle free, however. When the thought finally crossed his mind, it was too late; Rodney jerked to a stop above him, breaking off the kiss to gasp in much needed air, his entire body rigid. Just watching him, and feeling his weight along his entire body, hips shuddering convulsively, John too fell over the precipitous cliff edge, which was sort of amazing really, considering the thickness of the material that separated them. Blinding lights, shaking earth, white noise – John suffered it all, and never wanted it to end. In fact, he really wanted to try it again, this time without all the barriers between them.

Rodney tucked his head in the crook of John's neck, once more breathing warm, moist air over sensitive skin. It made John wonder how he ever questioned why he wouldn't – or couldn't – want it. It was obvious, as evidenced by the slowly cooling mess in his shorts, that he and Rodney were compatible, regardless of preconceived notions of gender and orientation. The only possible reason he could think of, at least at this particular moment, was the stupid rules the military operated by. Don't Ask, Don't Tell. Only that was no longer in effect, and there were openly gay airmen, sailors, soldiers and Marines on active duty now. It wasn't easy for them, but they were doing it, serving their country and still living the life they deserved. If they could do it, John could do it, and he wasn't even gay. Maybe just gay for Rodney.

So what was his excuse for putting it off for so long? John didn't know, and wasn't sure he could answer, not at this time. Post-coital bliss was clouding his judgement. Better just to wrap his arm around Rodney and hold on tight, because no matter what his motivations were, before or after, he had no intention of letting go now.


End file.
